24 July 25th, 2003
by rane29
Summary: www.hackermind.net(forward slash here)24.html


24

The following takes place

between 3:00 A.M. and 4:00 A.M.,

on the morning of July 25th, 2003.

Events occur in real time.

Cologne, Germany 

**Local Time**

**12:00:02 PM**

The pain in his side had begun to grow, but even as he leaned against the concrete wall for support, he refused to let down his guard.  His Beretta 9mm was clutched between his hands with a death grip, swinging from left to right in an effort to fend off any possible attackers.  Silence surrounded him, granting him the ability to hear approaching footsteps, but also forcing his mortally wounded body to move quietly.  It should have been easy enough, his training certainly taught him how to stay low and undetected, but the blood that oozed down his leg was filled with black bile.  He would die.  Sooner, not later.

"Carla," he whispered into his radio, "Carla do you copy?"

Static was the only reply.  Stealthily he rounded a nearby corner, unwillingly leaving a trail of blood behind.  A maze of catwalks and piping lay before him, with the occasional puff of steam being vented.  It was during these moments he feared a strike, surely his enemies would wait for him to be off guard.  Worse yet, the factory provided little cover.  The metallic pipes and catwalks would only increase his chance of catching a stray bullet, but there was no time to worry about that now.  Again, he tried his radio, only this time he did so on the move as he hobbled down a long flight of stairs.

"Do you read me?  I'm…I'm making my way to the uplink station," he paused, spitting blood from his mouth, "Begin the transmission, I repeat, begin the transmission."

Now on the ground floor, he could see the coast was clear.  A straightaway would lead him to the office where his partner would be waiting, or at least, he hoped so.  Had she been captured or killed, a part of him was uncertain whether he could handle the uplink.  Now was the time to be especially careful, falling against the wall he looked for any signs of a trap.  As he waited, a transmission came over the radio.  Faint at first, but audible nonetheless.

"Conner, do you copy?  I'm at the uplink station, where the hell are you?"

More blood dripped from his mouth, this time drenching his radio as he went to reply, "Almost…there, are you…alone?"  He struggled with the words, each syllable causing a new shot of pain to tear through him.

"Roger that, now move!"

Conner rose to his feet and ran as fast as he could.  Pain had all but consumed him, but he would not pass out, he _could not_ pass out.  It was a short run, but not short enough.

The first shot was unsilenced, striking the ground beside him.  Frantically he searched for cover, but his only hope was the office straight ahead.  Aiming his Beretta upward, toward the unseen shooter, he fired three shots and listened as they bounced off the metal.  A melody of ricochets could be heard, providing him with enough cover to get through the door.  Once inside he saw Carla waiting at the terminal, they must have been using her as bait.  A second shot came through the window, only this one made no ricochet.  Blood drenched the computer monitor at which Carla sat, having gone straight through Conner's chest.  Dropping to his knees, he reached into his pocket and handed her the disc he had given his life for.

"Trans…trans…" he struggled.

Carla pulled him over, knowing the end would be coming soon.  They were closing in now, knowing their one threat was gone.  She was unarmed, all she could do was insert the disc.  The CD drive closed, and even as she heard the footsteps coming closer, she entered in the keystrokes that connected her with her destination.  The socket was open, she was ready to transmit.

From the hall, a man dressed in a business suit fastened a silencer to his weapon.  His partner, descending a nearby stairway, was already prepared.  The first man turned to the second, giving a quiet nod to show there was no danger.  Several steps later he was in the office, facing the beautiful young brunette who sat on the computer.  She was doing nothing, but a small grin had formed on her face.

Nearing the woman, the first killer saw what was on the computer screen before her.  Turning back to his partner, who already had his weapon trained on the woman, he gave a look of utter despair and furious rage.  

**TRANSMISSION COMPLETE.**

Turning back, the first killer wasted no time in placing his gun to the young woman's face and firing a single shot.  Her head painted the wall behind her, and allowed the second killer to lower his weapon.  The message on the computer terminal continued to flash, illuminating the dark room.

"Wir sind zu spät. (We're too late.)" said the first, "Erhalten Sie Headquarters am Telefon. (Get headquarters on the phone.)"

The second dialed on his cell phone, but once the call was completed he immediately handed it over to the first.  The phone on the other end rang only once, as it usually did.

A woman's voice came over the line, "Identification and access code please."

The man's choice of language changed, but his accent remained, "Q15Q23, Agent Ashford, Los Angeles CTU."

San Francisco 

**Local Time**

**03:02:37 AM**

**San Francisco Hilton Hotel**

**President David Palmer's Suite**

Nicole looked so beautiful as she slept, as innocent as an angel.  For President Palmer, it had felt like an eternity since he had last seen his children.  He often told himself it was the price he paid for the job he chose, but it provided him little comfort.  The TV played some ridiculous sitcom that first aired ages ago as he kicked up his feet and loosened his tie.  Keith was already fast asleep in his room next door, leaving him alone.  What he wouldn't give for them to be awake a little longer, just to hear more about their lives and what they were up to.  Things had been rough since the separation, but talking with his kids always helped ease the loneliness.

A yawn escaped him, but he insisted on finishing a few things before turning in.  He was stubborn like that, a true workaholic.  Rising to his feet in an effort to wake himself up, he walked to the window and gazed out over the city.  The lights of the early morning cast ghostly images upon the buildings, providing a sense of quiet before dawn, the peace before the storm.

Directly below his view, on the balcony, Secret Service Agent Roberts looked up at the President and almost rose to his feet.  With nothing but a hand gesture, the President assured him everything was all right.  That was another price he paid, constant surveillance.  Even when he couldn't see them, they could see him.  They were everywhere, providing him with the security any president would need.  

A knock came at the door, quickly he rushed across the room to prevent another knock from waking Nicole.  A quick glance through the keyhole revealed yet another Secret Service Agent, only this time another familiar face was present.  Opening the door, the Agent spoke first.

"Mr. President, sorry to bother you sir, I have a Mr. Strickland here to see you."

"Yes of course, come in Brian."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

Brian Strickland, Security Advisor for the Department of Defense, and long time friend of David Palmer, entered the room carrying a cell phone.  The President didn't even have to say it, his look alone asked "what's wrong?"

"Sir," Strickland began, "I just received a call from Ryan Chappelle, head of Los Angeles CTU."

"I know him," Palmer noted, "What's the situation?"

"He received a debrief moments ago from several agents they have operating in Cologne, Germany."  Strickland paused as Palmer ushered him into an adjacent room so as not to wake his daughter.  He closed the door behind them and took a seat as Strickland continued, "They were part of an undercover team assigned to monitor a small group of German radicals who we believed, at the time, to pose little or no threat."

"I take it that has since changed," Palmer chimed in.

"Yes," Strickland nodded, "Approximately three hours ago it was revealed to our agents the group had access to a Top Secret NOC list.  The agents risked their lives by blowing their cover and pursuing the radicals.  They were tracked to an uplink station, doubling as a steel mill, where they managed to transmit the contents of the list via satellite."

"If I'm not mistaken, this is a list of known undercover agents and their true identities…"

"You're not mistaken sir, and the transmission was completed."

"Do we know where the files were sent?"

"Intel would suggest an offset of the German radicals located in this country, most likely in or around Los Angeles.  Of course we're sending in a computer forensics expert to try and pinpoint the exact location, but it'll take time.  Counter Terrorist Unit had been keeping tabs on this group for several years, which is why the men were undercover."

Palmer rose, turning his back to Strickland, "Fine, find the men on the list and get them out before the information leaks."

"That might not be the proper course of action sir, if I may…" Strickland said, asking for permission to explain his point of view.

"Please."

"Sir the NOC list was heavily encrypted, from what I understand it would take months to crack the entire list with the technology they have at their disposal."

"The _entire_ list?" Palmer asked, confused by his wording.

"Each identity on the list is encrypted with a separate algorithm, meaning each must be cracked separately.  Even if they get the first two, the other eighteen names would still be safe.  There's no reason to draw attention to this needlessly, at least not at the moment."

"Two names are unacceptable.  If the information is leaked, those agents will lose their lives.  What do you propose?"

Strickland fought the urge to disagree with the President's reasoning, he knew better than to put up a fight at such a time, "Sir, if we can locate the cell in Los Angeles we may be able to stop them, but we have to move quickly."

Palmer nodded, "Understood, tell Mr. Chappelle we'll give him any support he needs."

"Very good, sir."  Strickland agreed as he began to dial, "Would you like me to bring in Erin Blumfeld?"

Palmer gazed a picture of Keith and Nicole, lost in memories.  He had faced so many disasters in recent months, many of which the public knew nothing about.  What right did he have putting his children through this kind of life?  

"Sir?"

Palmer, suddenly snapped back to reality, kept his eyes on the picture as he replied, "Not yet, I doubt we'll be needing her today.  Put me through to Director Chappelle though, I want a first hand assessment of this situation."

"Yes sir."

James Poulson, Jimmy to his friends, could hardly sleep.  His digital clock stared him in the face, 3:05, reminding him of how tired he would be in the morning.  Beside the clock sat his trusty Glock 9mm, holstered and ready to go.  He would need it that way, he had to be gone by six and the way things were looking, he wasn't going to be very well rested today.  

He had the job for only a week, but even that was mostly training.  Tomorrow would be his first day truly on the job, a day of first impressions that would last a lifetime.  The only companion he had was his dog Mac, who slept on the floor beside him.  He was a large Shepherd, the kind destined to protect a house.  Glancing down at him, Poulson watched as the dog slept, he almost felt jealous.

_BRIING!_

Poulson nearly jumped out of bed at the ringing phone, and Mac was already up and about.  Sitting up, he clicked on the light and tried to regain his composure.  "Who the hell," he groaned to himself as he fumbled for the phone.  "Hello?"

"Jimmy?"

It was a familiar voice, and for a moment, Poulson almost wondered if he had been dreaming and actually overslept.  "Yes?"

"It's Tony Almeida, I know you're not due in until six, but Chappelle wants everyone in here early."

Squinting his eyes to assure himself the clock really did read three in the morning, he asked, "How early?"

"As soon as possible, he called from his car, he'll be here any minute."

It wasn't something he wanted to hear, but it wasn't like he could sleep anyway.  "Yes sir, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Los Angeles Counter Terrorist Unit Headquarters 

For a man who lived for this kind of thing, Tony Almeida hardly seemed thrilled.  The coffee he drank was about fifteen minutes cold, and considering how tired he was, it may as well have been decaf.  Standing beside his desk, he placed his Cubs mug down and glanced at his watch.  He had expected his shift to end by now, but to his dismay they asked him to stick around a while longer.  The regulars that frequented CTU headquarters were nowhere to be seen at this late hour, with the obvious exception of Milo Pressman, who Tony could hear but not see.  The pecking of his keys assured Tony he was hard at work, but down deep, he wondered if Milo wasn't over there playing pinball.

"Tony," a voice came from behind, startling him.  Although he was more shocked by who had said it than by the actual greeting.  Walking over to him, his hand extended, was Regional Director Ryan Chappelle.  "Good to see you, have you been waiting long?"

"Mr. Chappelle, no not at all, what's this all about?"

Chappelle had a concerned look on his face, but Tony knew it was bad news already.  Anytime something couldn't wait until morning, it had to be bad.  Two other men stood behind him, but Tony didn't recognize them.  They were armed, and he could only assume they were bodyguards of some kind.

"I think it would be best if we stepped into the conference room, is Agent Poulson here yet?"

"He's on his way in now, Jack Bauer's currently on assignment."

"Yes, I know. Very well," Chappelle said with a nod, "Bring in Milo Pressman."

A stunned look befell Tony, "Milo sir?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, and headed through the doors of the conference room.

Sitting at his keyboard, Milo's fingers flew with the accuracy of a professional pianist.  The screen before him was flooded with data they had him processing, most of which was encrypted evidence that would soon be sent to Division.  Without turning, he could hear Tony approaching.  He probably had some more work for him to do, like he wasn't busy enough already?  He was doing twice as much work as anyone in that place, at least, he thought so.

"Milo," Tony said without so much as a hello, "They want you in the conference room."

Milo spun around in his swivel chair, just as dumbfounded as Tony was, perhaps even more so.  "Me?"

The deserted landscape spread out in all directions as the train snaked its way through the night.  Most passengers slept in their seats, others read, and still others chatted the night away as though they had done this a hundred times before.  The front most car was off limits, and guarded by a burly man in a long overcoat.  It was the car right before the locomotive, so he knew no one should have access to it.  Several people had mistakenly thought a bathroom lie in the car ahead, and while there was, it was his job to turn them around.  Grasping a bar beside him, he did his job as a bouncer well.

Within the forbidden car sat seven, all dressed in their finest.  Some wearing Versace, others Armani.  The man located at the front of the car, on the right side,  however, wore something entirely different.  His clothes were that of his native country, not so different as to appear out of place, but his suit was obviously not of this country.  Directly beside him, on both sides, the men in suits were armed to the teeth.  Their weapons were hidden, as were everyone else's, but they were there nonetheless.  The foreign man knew they were there for his protection, and for the protection of the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, but a feeling of general unease befell him all the same.

Two rows back, one of the agents remained awake.  The lights from outside danced over his face at regular intervals, revealing his blonde hair and the goatee that only added to his hardened appearance.  His eyes showed how much he had been through, it was all in the eyes.  And he had seen more than any other agent on this train, he was sure of that.  Directly beside him, a younger agent clicked on the light above his seat and motioned in his direction.  He quickly took a sip of a small flask, which hit him hard enough to make his body tremble, and offered it to his partner on the trip.

"Want some?"

Jack Bauer looked at the younger man with disdain.  He would be friendly, but how could he respect someone half his age?  Taking the flask, he took a swig, and without shaking a bit passed it back.

"Good stuff, huh?  My own secret recipe."

Jack stayed silent and leaned back.  The younger man could tell he wasn't in the mood for chit chat, and soon after, Jack had closed his eyes.  Regardless, he continued.

"This is my first assignment, you know my dad used to protect Kennedy?  I never thought I would be—"

"Do you have anything to say that's actually worth the time it takes to listen?" Jack asked while his eyes remained closed.

Shrinking back into his seat, the younger man flicked off the light, "Sorry, I'm Davis by the way, Elliot Davis."

The rattling of the train was unbearable, and Jack knew sleep would be impossible.  Still, keeping his eyes closed was better than listening to the boy beside him.  He would have to concentrate on the task at hand, and it wasn't going to be an easy one.

_03:08:05_

Chappelle dropped a folder on the table, clearly marked "CLASSIFIED."  He waited for Tony and Milo to enter the room before beginning his speech.  The two men entered quietly and took their seats across from each other.  Tony noticed Sandra Nelson, another Intelligence Agent at CTU, was seated on the other side beside one of the bodyguards.  Chappelle, of course, sat at the head of the table.

"I'm sorry to bring such bad news at such an early hour, but time is of the essence."  Chappelle began, opening the file before him as he did so, "Do we have the President on the line?" he asked the bodyguard beside him.

"Yes sir," the guard to the left said as he pressed a small button on the speakerphone in the center of the table.

"Mr. President?"

"Mr. Chappelle, good to speak with you again."

"And it's an honor to speak with you sir," Chappelle countered, going through all the motions that were expected of him, "Although I wish it were on better terms."

"Have your people been updated?"

"Not as of yet sir, we're waiting for one of our agents to arrive as we speak, and I was just about to inform everyone else."

"Very well."__

"Ladies and gentlemen, we received word just minutes ago that a Top Secret NOC list containing the true identities of twenty undercover government agents had been stolen, and transmitted to an undisclosed location.  These men were working undercover against a group we've been monitoring for several years, and if decrypted, their identities will be exposed."

"This is in regard to the Freedom Front group we were tracking, correct?" Tony asked.

"Yes," he answered.  "We're aware of several bases of operation around the city, but finding a computer file…well, let's just hope our computer analysts overseas can determine the destination of the transmission."

"What about the people who sent the file," Tony asked, "Can't they be questioned?"

"I'm afraid not," Chappelle said as he lowered his head, "Our agents got a bit…overzealous, and they will be reprimanded."

"They killed them," Sandra interjected.

"Correct," Chappelle stated, "Milo…"

Milo, taken off guard, replied, "Sir?"

"What can you tell us about the encryption on the NOC list?"

"I haven't worked with it personally sir, but from what I understand it's a 256 bit cipher with each name requiring a unique digital signature.  Contrary to what you may have heard, that encryption is far from secure.  I had recommended a stronger form several years ago at a previous job with the DoD but--"

"Is it possible for someone to crack it?  And if so, how long?"

"It would depend on the machines they were using, sir."

Chappelle leaned back in his chair, "Let's assume they have the best of the best, how long?"

Milo wasn't sure how to respond, there were an infinite number of variables to consider.  "Well, sir…if they only had civilian processors it might be a year or two.  But if they have supercomputers, and I mean the kind the NSA uses…"

Everyone in the room fell silent.

"…it could be as little as a day."

Chappelle nodded, "It's apparent we have a grave situation here Mr. President.  With your permission we'd like to seal off several areas where we know members of the FF to be hiding…hopefully we can wrap this up before morning."

The President paused, considering this proposal, "Can we guarantee the safety of American civilians while you conduct your search?"

"If we move quickly sir, but we have to start now.  We'll need every man you can spare, it's imperative we find their base of operations as soon as possible.  Our manpower is far too inadequate, once word got out the cells would simply scatter."

Palmer knew what he was asking, and it was something that chilled him to the bone, "You're talking about martial law."

"In a sense sir, a silent martial law.  Once the FF is in custody, and our agents are safe, we can reopen the streets."

There was a pause, but soon came Palmer's reply.  "Very well."

**_03:10:27_**

**_03:10:28_**

**_03:10:29_**

**_========================_**

**_03:14:56_**

**_03:14:57_**

**_03:14:58_**

****

"Sir," Strickland began, "If I may say so, you made the right decision."

"Did I?" Palmer said, questioning himself more than anyone else.

"You might have some answering to do back in Washington, but that's all politics sir.  Your decision is all that matters."

"Trust me, Brian, I'm well aware."

"Desperate times sir…"

Reaching for his tie, Palmer straightened himself up.  It looked like rest and relaxation would have to wait.  "I want to be there."

Strickland stepped closer to the President so as to keep their voices from getting too loud, "Sir?"

"I said I want to be in Los Angeles, if this happens I need to be certain that we keep things under control."

Strickland was now showing his disapproval, as far as he was concerned the President was looking at this all wrong.  It was his job to give the best advice he could, but without ever defying the President.  At this point, he felt his needed to argue his opinion rather strongly.

"Mr. President, perhaps it's best if you remain in San Francisco.  We're dealing with a very delicate situation here, should things go astray in Los Angeles it'd be best for your political future to deny any responsibility."

Palmer took a step back and stared back at Strickland, "What are you getting at?"

"If CTU screws this up, you can assure the American public you had nothing to do with it.  It's their responsibility now, sir.  Let them handle it."

The President looked at the floor, giving the impression he was contemplating the suggestion.  But soon, he raised his head and looked Strickland in the eye, "I want to be in the air within the hour."

"Yes, Mr. President."

Palmer brushed past him as he headed for the door.  Strickland, bound by duty to obey the President, reluctantly turned to follow.  As Palmer entered the main room, he noticed Nicole standing by the window.  Standing there in her pajamas, she looked ten years younger than she actually was.

"What are you doing up sweetheart?"

Turning from the window, Nicole looked back at her father and another man.  He was a middle aged white man, slightly balding, most likely military, they all seemed to look that way.  "I'll wait outside, sir," he said to her father.

"Hi daddy, are you going out?"

It was hard to tell her the truth right away, but he knew he would have to, "I have to go to Los Angeles for a little while, but it's nothing to worry about."  He said it, but looking into his daughter's eyes he could tell she didn't believe him.  Assassination attempts and national disasters left the entire Palmer family on edge, most especially Nicole.  With all the trauma in her life, she had no room for more.

"Just be careful, daddy," she said as she reached up to peck his cheek.

"I will sweetheart, get some rest ok?"

"Ok."

Palmer watched as his daughter walked off to her bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief, they would both be staying here, out of harms way.

The rumble of the train opened his eyes, and Jack quickly realized he must have dozed off for a few minutes.  To his right, he saw the annoyance in the next seat had done the same.  Quickly he produced his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket and stood up, balancing himself with the overhead luggage rack.  A quick pat on the side of his jacket assured him his FN Forty Nine handgun was securely in place as he moved down the aisle, nearing the door at the far end.  Once at the back of the car he stopped, noticing the gap between cars.  He remembered an area between the next two cars where he could be alone in an enclosed space.  He would have to get by the guard in the next car, but he really didn't feel like standing outside to make the call.  

Upon opening the door, the noise from outside woke at least one or two people in the car.  They thought nothing of it, and simply rested their heads back down.  Jack then pushed open the next door, to the surprise of the guard blocking it.  Realizing someone was trying to get out, he moved aside and checked who it was.  He immediately recognized Jack.  "What's the problem?" the guard asked, unsure of why one of the agents would be leaving the main car.

"Bathroom, what's his name…uh, Johnson, has been in there for about twenty minutes now."

The guard laughed, "There's one in the next car up."

"Thanks," Jack said as he made his way down the car, feeling the eyes of the guard on his back at all times.  The shoes he wore were designer made, and didn't have the best traction in the world.  With every bump or rattle the train made he slipped a little, grabbing onto the luggage racks for support like a lifeline.  Moving through the next door, he found the space he was hoping for.  It was just a small separation between the two cars, but it was enclosed.  Still, the noise was deafening, which was both good and bad.

Sipping from his mug, albeit with much fresher coffee inside, Tony looked back over his shoulder as Sandra approached.  "You know Tony, I'm starting to think you live here."

"Funny," Tony joked, "I was starting to think we were roommates."

"Here, Langley just sent this over."

"What is it?" Tony asked as he took a small stack of documents.

"All the information they have on the leaders of the Freedom Front cells we have operating in the area.  From what I can tell there are three major ones that are possibilities, only one is located outside city limits."

"Who's the head of that one?"

Sandra turned the page to reveal a photograph of a young man.  Slender build, wearing glasses, fine-combed hair…not exactly what Tony expected.  "His name is Jeremy Holt, he's been having monthly meetings with other known members of the FF, but they claim to be a religion and we have no way of stopping them."

"A religion, huh?" Tony asked, "What religion blows up schools, and kills dozens of children?"

Sandra said nothing, but patted Tony on the shoulder.  She knew he could get pretty passionate about things like that, but it was best to keep a level head.  "Once Poulson and the rest of the men get in we'll gear them up and send them over, but Tony…"

"What?"

Leaning against the desk, she tried to catch his eye, "What makes you think we're going to find a computer file?  I mean a bomb is one thing, but this is just data…"

It was something on everyone's mind, "We have a few reliable sources, so we'll do what we can."

"Yeah, but—"

The familiar ring of an outside call came through on Tony's phone, cutting off Sandra.  "CTU Almeida."

The voice on the other end could hardly be heard over the loud din in the background, but Tony managed to strain his ear, "Hello?!"

"Tony, it's Jack."

"Jack?!" Tony barked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine…is Chappelle there?" he yelled over the noise of the train, all the while trying to not draw too much attention to himself.

Tony turned to see Chappelle standing against the far wall talking with one of the two guards, "Mr. Chappelle?" he called, "Jack Bauer on line one."

Chappelle raised his hand and grabbed a phone on a nearby desk, "Jack, you're not scheduled for another debriefing until 0500, what's wrong?"

"We have a bit of a problem Ryan."

"I'm listening."

"There were only supposed to be three agents watching this guy, I count five."

Chappelle scratched his chin and stared off, "So what's the problem Jack?"

Shaking back in forth in the divider, Jack grew angry, "The problem is who are the other two?"

"It's possible they're with Weiss…they may all be bombers Jack."

Jack dropped his head against the wall as he listened to Chappelle continue.

"This doesn't change anything, your mission remains the same…that man is going to kill thousands of civilians, _unless you take him out!_  I don't care how Jack, just make it happen."

"And if the other two are with him, what does that accomplish?"

"Jack, listen to me very carefully…do you have your mobile scanner?"

Reaching into his right pant pocket, Jack produced the small PDA-like device, "Yes."

"Get a fingerprint of one of them on the scanner, we'll have Milo scan it.  If one's dirty, they're probably both dirty."

"And how the hell do I get a fingerprint, Ryan?"

"You're a smart guy Jack," Chappelle concluded and hung up the phone.

"What was that all about?" Tony asked.

"Nothing to worry about, tell Milo to expect an incoming fingerprint scan from Jack Bauer, and tell him to forward whatever he finds directly to me." Chappelle said, in his typical "that's final" voice.  Walking away, Tony and Sandra were left to pander what the conversation with Jack had been about.

Sandra, in her long blue work suit, turned to Tony and gave him the eyes that always made men talk.  "What exactly is Jack up to?"

"I have no idea," Tony said as he started heading back to his desk, "But if I know Jack, we're going to have a lot of paper work to deal with."

Back on the train, Jack closed his phone and placed it back in his pocket.  He reentered the car he had just come out of and once again made his way down the aisle toward the guard.  "Find it ok?"

"Yeah, no problem." Jack said as he walked by and entered the car containing his mark.  Looking at the five agents, he tried to determine which would be the easiest to print.  One was sleeping, but beside the window, meaning he would have to lean over the first agent to get his print.  This made things clear, moving back to his seat, Jack looked down at the young man beside him….

_03:21:02_

President Palmer stared out the side of his limo as he listened to Strickland feed him intelligence reports.  It was mostly mindless jabber, all of which he had heard before.  What he was looking for were the facts, the facts that would help him win the day.  Sitting across from him in the back of the limo was someone that might provide him with that, his personal advisor Mike Novick.

"David with you it's never boring," he said in a low voice.  He was obviously tired, but he wasn't about to let that show.  When the president needed him, he had to be at the ready.

"You're the one that followed me on this trip, don't blame me."

"David, I thought you might need help handling all the publicity of opening a new museum," he said jokingly, "And now look…disaster seems to follow you."

There was little time for jokes however, and the President's attitude turned far more serious.  "Brian, what can you tell me about this group we're dealing with?"

"They call themselves the 'Freedom Front' sir, they were a small group of German radicals who felt the United States was to blame for their hardships.   Formed shortly after World War II, they were mostly a thorn in our side, until recently that is.  In 1999 they claimed responsibility for a school bombing in England, where several American diplomats enrolled their children.  It was then we realized we would have to keep tabs on them, and have been doing so ever since."__

Palmer, clearly disgusted by their brutality, turned to Strickland, "And now with this list they hope to expose the American agents that have infiltrated their group."

"David I want you to reconsider this order you gave," Mike chimed in, "Declaring martial law and allowing the military to control civilian streets…it could ruin this country David.  I don't care what the stakes are, you better be sure you know what you're getting yourself into."

"It won't be martial law, not exactly.  We close down the roads surrounding the areas where we know there are groups of the FF currently –"

"I don't care what you call it, David!  Freedom Front members or not, they're still citizens of this country and you're suggesting we let the military deal with this.  In case you've forgotten, CTU falls under military jurisdiction."

"It has to be done Mike, it's the greatest good.  The death of these men is simply unacceptable.  We do this quick and clean, and hopefully by sunrise it'll all be over," Palmer said in a feeble attempt to calm his own nerves, "Brian, would we have access to the names on that list?"

"Of course, sir."

"I want them, we should at least know who we're trying to protect."

"Sir," Strickland objected, "I say again, pulling them out may do more harm than good.  If not to them, then politically.  How would it look if people learned we were spying on domestic groups?  Can you imagine the Constitutional issues?"

"I want the names, Brian.  If we have to give them a warning, I want the ability to do so."

Strickland, once again, reluctantly agreed.

The guard stopped him and demanded identification, which he gladly provided.  He knew in time it would become unnecessary, but there were certain things the new guy just had to deal with. 

With his coat under his arm he was waved through by the guard, rounded the corner, opened a glass door, and entered CTU headquarters as an official agent.  All around he saw people typing away, watching news reports on massive screens, keeping track of maps on equally large displays, and of course, the higher ups were in the upper offices.  Slowly he walked through the center of the room, unsure of what to do first.  Fortunately, a friendly face was there to greet him.

"Jimmy!" the voice called.

"Hey Tony," he replied, "What's the emergency?"

"Come on, I'll take you to the locker room, we have to get you geared up."

"What's going on?" he asked, hoping his first day wouldn't also be his last.  Tony was wasting no time, the two moved through the rows of desks and into a corridor at the back of CTU.  

"We've got orders to check out several known terrorist cells, you'll be leading a combat team into the building.  Relax, it's probably just a group of civilians in there, but nonetheless we want everyone in full body armor."

The two were halfway down the back hallway when Poulson grabbed Tony by the arm and stopped him, "Tony, hold on a second.  It's three in the morning on my first day, I'm not ready to go barging into buildings!  Besides, shouldn't the FBI be doing this?"

"This falls within CTU's jurisdiction, so just calm down.  You'll be fine, you have all the training you need," Tony assured him.  The lights of the gray hallway blinded him in the early morning hours, and the locker room was even worse.  Located at the end of the hall on the left, he saw most of his teammates tying their boots and placing their armor over their heads.

Tony patted him on the shoulder and left him in charge of his team, "I don't even know where my desk is…" he muttered to himself.  The team before him realized who he was and stood at attention.  It was then Poulson felt his training come back to him, and his years on the LAPD and SWAT starting to return.  He was ready for this, he was ready for the big leagues.

"You must be Agent Poulson, I'm Grant Monroe," another agent introduced himself.  With the armor he wore, he looked more like Robocop than a CTU agent.  Full Kevlar vest, thigh pads, shin pads, the whole nine yards.  Poulson shook his hand, noting how tall he was.  He had the look of a high school football player before a game, somewhat intimidating, and even more so when Poulson remembered he would be leading him.

"Nice to meet you," he said as he opened up the locker marked "POULSON."  

Sitting on the bench, Poulson took in a deep breath.  Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew it was going to be a long first day.

Jack had the scanner in his right hand at all times.  He had to be sure Davis, or whatever his name was, was asleep.  It had been a while since he last moved, but to be certain he tapped his arm like he wanted to tell him something.  When the younger agent didn't move, Jack carefully positioned the scanner under his left thumb.  After one final check to be certain he was sleeping, he hit the "SCAN" button to activate the device.  Then, with one quick thrust he pushed Davis's thumb down on the pad.

Davis moved, his head turned, and he was awake.  "What's going on?"

Jack opened his eyes and looked at the younger agent, "Go back to sleep kid, we're not there yet."

Davis shrugged it off and closed his eyes, leaving Jack to place the scanner back in his pocket.  He didn't dare transmit the scan while Davis might still have been awake.

Tony entered data into his computer as the phone rang.  The ring was an internal call, which he answered immediately, "Almeida."

"Have you seen this IFA from Langley?"

Leaning back, Tony looked across the room at Sandra as he spoke into the phone, "No, send it to my screen."

Seconds later, a text file appeared on his screen.  Quickly Tony scanned through it, but Sandra had already highlighted the points of interest.  One line which caught Tony's eye read, "…information regarding the attempt on Regional Director Ryan Chappelle…"

"You see it?" she asked, referring to the areas she marked.

"I guess that explains the extra security," Tony remarked, referring to the two bodyguards.

"Read further."

Tony looked at the screen and noticed she highlighted the name "Peter Weiss."

Sandra continued, "Weiss…wasn't that the name Chappelle used when he was talking to Jack?"

"You think Chappelle is having Jack go after this guy Weiss?" Tony asked.

"Sounds like it, I did some digging…he's currently on a train bound for Los Angeles.  They're due to arrive in the city at 6:15AM."

"Jack sounded like he was on a train," Tony said as he remembered the noise, "Jesus…who is he?"

"There's not too much information on him, but from what I see he may have ties to the FF."

"And Jack's been sent to kill him…"

Chappelle walked out into the center of the room, "Alright listen up!" he said in the highest voice possible, "Now I know we all wish we could be home right now, but we have a job to do.  If we do it right, and everything goes smoothly, we'll be home in time for breakfast.  Let's go men!"

Tony turned and watched as a dozen heavily armed foot soldiers marched into the center of CTU.  Each had an MP5 strapped around their body, and were decked out in full riot gear.  A black shotgun was slung over each man's shoulder, and each had a handgun around their waist.  It was a sight Tony had never seen before, and it was a force to be reckoned with.  At the front of the pack stood Jimmy Poulson, facing Ryan Chappelle.

"Formed and ready sir."

"Alright, the trucks outside will transport you Huntington Park, just outside the city limits.  This is the first, and most likely, target of possible terrorist activity.  Maps are available outside for you to discuss your strategy, but the objective is simple.  Locate and detain any possible members of the German terrorist organization known as the Freedom Front.  I want all computer equipment seized, and especially be on the lookout for this man, Jeremy Holt."

"Sir, what about the other targets within the city?"

"We have declared a state of martial law ladies and gentlemen.  Currently the streets are being barricaded to prevent any potential escapees, and a second and third team are being organized to move in on these two targets.  Your responsibility will be the most promising one, be safe out there, and good luck."

"Alright, you heard the man.  Let's head out!"

The group of SWAT-like agents shook the ground as they moved out of the main room, through the lobby, and into the cool night air.  Poulson saw the moon hanging high in the air, a beautiful sight before what would most likely be a traumatic day.  One by one he loaded his men into the back of a truck, each taking their seat on the benches connected to the sides.  With everyone loaded up, he too climbed in, closing the door behind him.  As he walked to his seat the truck took off, nearly knocking him down.  Fortunately he maintained himself as he sat at the front of the truck, directly behind the driver, whom they couldn't see.

"It's forty minutes out, we use this truck for prisoners and return on the chopper…understood?"

The group gave a loud, unanimous "Yes sir!"

"The list is coming through now sir," Strickland informed the President, referring to the small fax machine located on the side of the limo.

"These are the agents on the NOC list?"

"Yes sir."

From the front of the limo, the driver called back, "We're here sir."

            Through the window, Mike Novick saw Air Force One sitting on the tarmac.  The magnificent bird stretched several hundred feet, was a marvel of modern technology, and was designed all for them.  "Come on, David.  Your chariot awaits."

President Palmer was silent.

"David?" Mike asked, "Is something wrong?'

Palmer stared at the list of names in horror.  "The first name on the list…"

"Who is it?"

"…Jack Bauer."

**_03:28:21_**

**_03:28:22_**

**_03:28:23_**

**_========================_**

**_03:32:42_**

**_03:32:43  
03:32:44_**

****

Jack rested against the back of the Ambassador's car.  Davis was now fast asleep, and anxiously Jack typed in the information needed to send the print to CTU.  He would type a little, look up, and then go back to typing.  If anyone asked what he was doing, he would just claim to be sending an email, it was completely innocent.  Pressing the "SEND" button caused the screen to glow and revealed the print he had placed on it.

Back at CTU, Milo crunched away on M&M's from a cup.  They were his favorite, the kind with peanuts on the inside.  With his feet rested on the desk, and the computer grinding away as it compiled the programs he had just finished, he tried to think of something else to do to pass the time.  Suddenly his computer terminal came to life with an incoming message.  With lightning speed he was back at the console and ready to accept it.  The scan came in, and he immediately recognized it as the fingerprint Jack was transmitting.  He picked up his phone and rang Tony's extension, glancing over to make sure he was there.

"Almeida," he answered.

"Tony it's me, we're getting the print now."

Tony hung up and started walking towards Milo's desk.  Milo, meanwhile, began his analysis of the print.  "How long will it take to scan?" Tony asked as he rounded the small wall that stood between them.

"Shouldn't be too long, just give me a couple minutes."

"Alright, let me know what you find."

"But," Milo began as he rolled his chair back to see Tony, "You told me to send it directly to Chappelle."

Tony stopped, and turned, "Milo…let me know what you find."

From the opposite end of the room Sandra watched as Tony approached, he seemed concerned about something.  "What's up?"

"Milo's running a print Jack just sent through, have you been able to dig up anything else on Weiss?"

Sandra was reluctant to answer, "…listen, shouldn't we be concentrating on finding the NOC list?"

The ranking officer had shaken his head slightly, not because he was upset with Sandra, just the situation.  "I agree, but if Chappelle has Jack on a suicide mission for a personal agenda, I think we should know about it.  I think we should get the facts about what's going on here before we just blindly trust a man who has reason to seek vengeance."

Sandra could not disagree, no matter what protocol said.  "Ok, but I'm uncomfortable with undermining a Regional Director."

"Just keep digging, if Weiss knows anything about this list we should notify Jack before Chappelle orders him to put a bullet through his head."

Sandra went back to work.  She knew he was right, and yet, there was something wrong about questioning the Regional Director's decision.

"Tony," a voice came from behind.  Turning in place, Tony saw Ryan Chappelle approaching.  "Any updates?  Has Jack sent that print through yet?"

"Uh," Tony began, giving a quick glance over to Milo, "No not yet."

Chappelle found the news hard to believe, "I see, it's not like Jack to be late," he commented as he headed towards Milo's desk.  Tony felt a knot rise up in his stomach, once Chappelle rounded that corner he would see Milo working on the print he had just lied about.

Regional Director Chappelle flung himself around the small gray wall that formed Milo's office, and stared directly at his computer screen.  Milo perked up, apparently taken off guard, "Sir?"

"Where's the print Agent Bauer was sending?"

"It hasn't come through yet, sir."

Chappelle stared down at the programmer, helpless to do anything further.  With an odd feeling deep down, he adjusted his suit and walked off.

Tony took his seat and watched as Chappelle disappeared into one of the offices upstairs.  Within seconds his phone gave the internal ring.  "What do ya got Milo?"

"Positive match…"

"Send it to my screen."

Tony put down the phone and waited.  Soon his screen flashed to life with an image he recognized immediately.  The fingerprint Jack sent had returned a 97.9% match accuracy, which may as well have been a hundred.

HOLT, JEREMY – CURRENTLY UNDER SURVEILANCE 

Secret Service moved up and down the aisles of Air Force One.  Each secured a separate location of the plane, with Strickland taking command of the main conference room located at the front of the aircraft.  Entering the room, he searched for any signs of foul play but saw none, "Alright Mr. President, conference room is clear.  Once we're in the air we'll be able to receive further updates from CTU."

"Understood, thank you Brian," the President said as he took his seat in the main cabin, surrounded by agents on all sides.  To his immediate left was Mike Novick, who glanced through several documents, but had the look of a man with something on his mind.

"Just say it, Mike."

"I understand Jack Bauer is a good friend, David," he began, wondering how much he should actually say.

"Go on."

"…and I respect your desire to save the men on this list.  But David…authorizing the military to control civilian streets is unprecedented in this country."

The pilot came over the loudspeaker, giving the usual speech about preparing for takeoff, but the President paid it little mind.  "He's also the first on the list Mike.  If they decode this file, his identity will be the first to be blown.  Brian, what do we know about Agent Bauer's current assignment?"

"I've been…" he stuttered slightly as the plane began to roll, moving into takeoff position.  Several agents walked by, talking into their headsets before he continued, "I've been trying to get as much information as possible, but things are a bit sketchy.  Apparently he's on board a train bound for Los Angeles escorting a German Ambassador.  This assignment began several days ago, so whatever his mission, it's completely unrelated to this current situation."

"Doesn't matter," the President interjected, "Once they realize who he is, they'll kill him on the spot."  Palmer thought carefully for a moment, and then spoke, "Which is why we must do anything and everything in our power to find that list.  If the only way to find these alleged terrorists is through military force, so be it.  I'll be there to make sure things stay under control."

The plane was now positioned for takeoff, but Mike had to get one last bit of information out.  "My job is to question you David, but also to follow your orders whole heartedly.  If you go through with this martial law, and anything goes wrong…I'm afraid Mr. Strickland is right."

"About?"

"About severing all connections with it.  You have good intentions David, but you're taking a monumental risk.  By giving power to the military, you bypass all levels of the Constitution, and forgo the Bill of Rights.  What happens on those streets is up to them, are you willing to face the consequences?"

"Such as?"

"David, you may save twenty agents…but are you prepared to face impeachment?"

The plane lurched forward, slowly speeding up as it moved down the runway.  President Palmer said nothing, the noise of the takeoff thankfully prevented him from answering any questions.

Jack kept vigil over the agent beside him, waiting for the scan to come back.  Almost everyone in the car was asleep by this point, so Jack carefully slid out of his seat and proceeded once again to the back of the car.  Halfway down the aisle, his cell phone beeped repeatedly, awaking one of the agents directly beside him.  Jack casually played it off as he removed it from his jacket pocket, somewhat annoyed the confirmation hadn't come through on the much quieter scanner.  "Yes?" he whispered.

"Jack, it's Tony."

Knowing he could not risk responding in this car, he pushed open the rear doors and into the next car.  The guard was dozing against the wall, allowing Jack a chance to slip by undetected.  As quickly as he could he ran through the car and into the divider.  Noise once again flooded the phone, but he trusted it far more than he trusted anyone on the train.  "Tony, where's Chappelle?"

At CTU, Tony spoke into his phone carefully, uncertain of whether Chappelle might be just over his shoulder listening.  "Listen, Jack…we have reason to believe Chappelle might not have our best interests in mind."

"What?" Jack growled.

"You've been sent to assassinate a man, correct?  The print you sent matched that of Jeremy Holt, a known member of the Freedom Front in Los Angeles."

Jack fell silent, his worst suspicions suddenly confirmed.

"If he's there, we must assume him and Weiss are working together…but Jack, listen to me.  Chappelle assigned you to this case for revenge against Weiss, but we need him alive."

Checking the cars in both directions to be sure he was alone, Jack kept his right hand on his Forty Nine incase of any surprises, "Weiss is only being brought into the city to blow up LAX…his escort knows nothing about it, and you want me to go against Chappelle and not take him out?"

"Listen to me Jack, he may have information on a NOC list that's in the open…if Weiss and Holt die we may lose that information."

Jack said nothing, he knew exactly what that meant.

"Do you understand, Jack?"

"Are you saying Chappelle spread false information about Weiss?  Just to take him out?"

"I don't see how he _couldn't_ know about this, if he still wants him taken out then we must assume he's acting on his own initiative."

_03:37:55_

The young agent who identified himself as Davis had been awake all along.  Jack had once again left his seat, and had not yet returned.  Slowly, he rose to his feet and proceeded to the end of the car.  On his way, he glanced down at the man sleeping by the window, the final man Jack had no positive ID for.  Moving forward, Davis removed his silenced 9mm as he moved between the two cars.  In the next car, he found the guard to be very much awake.

"Has Agent Marcus been this way?"

"Jack Marcus?  He was through here earlier, using the bathroom."

Davis pushed past, assuming the guard must have been sleeping.  

"Why, what's the problem?" the guard asked, never getting a reply.

Davis tightened his grip on the 9mm halfway through the car, inching closer and closer to the divider.  He noticed most of the passengers were fast asleep and raised his weapon with both hands, palm to palm around the handle.  His index finger rested carefully on the trigger, not on the side of the barrel as was customary.  Davis had every intent of firing.  

The door had a large button which could be punched to open it.  Davis hit it with all his might and jumped in, gun at the ready.

With only the occasional flash of moonlight, the divider was completely deserted.  He turned to his left and saw nothing, he then turned to his right and saw the same.  He was certain Jack had moved further down the cars, and prepared to move into the next.

A noise came from his left, a sliding door that let in the cool, early morning air.  Turning to see it, he watched as Jack flung himself around from the side of the train and straight through the door.  He had no time to re-aim, Jack struck him directly in the nose with a tightly clenched fist, shattering it instantly.  Sealing the door behind him, Jack grabbed the young Davis and threw him up against the wall, blood pouring down his face the whole time.

"Hello, Mr. Holt."

Jeremy Holt spat blood directly onto Jack's face, but he didn't even flinch.  "It's about time, took you long enough to get that print you made analyzed."

"What are you and Weiss doing on this train?" he demanded, tearing Holt's shirt slightly as he lifted him off the ground by it.

"I think the question is, what are _you_ doing on this train?"

"Well that's too bad," Jack replied as he picked up the silenced gun and placed the extended barrel directly under Holt's chin, "Because I'm asking the questions."

"Then ask yourself…do you want to get off this train alive?" Holt said with a grin, "Kill me, and Weiss kills you.  Kill Weiss, and I kill you."

"And if I kill you all?"

"I'm sure you've heard about the NOC list by now…do you really want to kill the people that can bring you to it?"

Jack slammed his fist into Holt's stomach, causing him to double over.  "Who says I _have _to kill you?"

"…y..your boss…" Holt stuttered as he clutched his stomach, "He's the one…that wants…Weiss dead…"

Grabbing him by the shirt once again, Jack slammed Holt back against the wall. 

"Li—" Holt coughed, "Listen to me…this is how we're going to do things…"

"No, listen to me," Jack said, wiping the blood from Holt's face, "We're going to return to our seats, just like good buddies.  But if you even breathe the wrong way I'll put a bullet in your stomach for the rest of the trip," he sneered as he placed the silenced nine to Holt's back.  "Now move."

"Why do you think CTU was put on this train, Jack?" Holt asked.

"What does Weiss know about the list?"

"If you could kill me and survive I'd consider telling you, but until then, go to hell Jack."

The two neared the guard, who looked at them suspiciously.  Jack tried to act like he was balancing himself on Holt to keep from falling, but as they slid past the guard, he had to move sideways to keep the gun from his view.  Now back in the main car, Jack pressed the barrel against his back even harder.  Feeling the gun, Holt turned to face Jack and whispered, "You die today, Mr. Marcus."

Holt moved forward and sat in the window seat, with Jack close behind.  Grasping the gun with his left hand, Jack kept the weapon trained on him through his folded arms.  Leaning over, Jack said in a low voice, "At the next stop, you and I get Weiss off this train.  Reveal my identity to him, and I'll execute you both."

The concrete barricade fell into place with a thud that shook the Earth.  Armed soldiers wearing military fatigues made their way into the streets, each carrying M16's, a sight rarely seen.  The deserted streets posed little threat to the men, but several cars were currently approaching the area.  

One man, clearly the ranking officer, stepped into the center of the intersection talking on a walkie talkie.  "Mr. Chappelle, this is Colonel Lance McKinley.  Sector 2 barricades are complete, several civilians approaching, request further instructions."

Chappelle, seated in the upper office of CTU looked down through the glass wall at the floor below.  "Colonel, I'm waiting on my military advisors as we speak.  The situation is yours, you have the utmost approval of the President of the United States."

"Yes sir," McKinley said into the radio.  "Sergeant, stop those cars."

The sergeant carried his M16's with both hands as he stepped in front of one of the oncoming cars.  The car grinded to a halt as the soldier approached.  Inside, an African American man in a business suit sat behind the wheel, uncomfortably watching as the armed man neared.  "Sorry sir, this street is closed."

"But…" the man began, "I have to get home."

"I'm sorry sir, street's closed by order of the President."

"What the hell is this?  Let me by!" he demanded.

McKinley noticed the unrest and proceeded toward the sergeant, "Sergeant, relinquish your rifle."

"Sir, yes sir," he complied.

The Colonel held the rifle in a non-threatening manner, but the terrified man in the car shrunk back in fear.  "Sir, I must insist you leave the area."

The man did nothing, nothing but stare up in disbelief.

"If he refuses to leave, he's suspect.  Sergeant, detain him."

"What?!" the man shouted, "You go to hell!"

The Sergeant reached through the window to open the door.  The man pushed the Sergeant aside, refusing to be taken as a prisoner.  With the door open the man had little recourse, the Sergeant reached in and grabbed him by the shirt, but still the man struggled, "Let go of me you son of a bitch!" 

McKinley watched as the Sergeant struggled with the man.  The civilian kicked the Sergeant in the face, drawing blood from his lip and knocking the soldier to the ground.  From within the car, the man continued shouting, _"This is America!  This is America you sons a' bitches!"_

Rifle in hand, McKinley walked over to the open door and aimed the rifle at the man's forehead.  The man stopped moving, stopped kicking, and stopped shouting.

The quiet calmness of the morning was suddenly shattered by rifle fire.

**_03:46:10_**

**_03:46:11_**

**_03:46:12_**

**_========================_**

**_03:51:29_**

**_03:51:30_**

**_03:51:31_**

****

Sitting at his desk in the upper office, Ryan Chappelle signed his name to several documents as a knock came at the door.  Even through the translucent glass he could see it was just the man he wanted to see.  "Come in."

General William Thomas entered the office.  He was a white haired man who, for all intents and purposes, should have retired years ago.  But he was also a man with experience in handling difficult situations, which was exactly what they needed at the moment.  Rising to greet him, Chappelle shook his hand and offered him a seat.  "I'm glad you're here, as you know this is a very difficult situation for everyone."

"So I understand, but I want to assure you, the National Guard is at your disposal until this situation is wrapped up."

"Thank you, General.  As we speak we have several tactical units converging on possible locations of this group known as the Freedom Front.  Our best chance is just outside the city limits, but two other possibilities remain within them.  We need your men to control the populace as best as possible until this is over.  With a little luck, we'll find what we're looking for without anyone even knowing we were looking."

"Excellent, have you been in contact with the President?"

"Yes, I have," Chappelle confirmed, "He saw fit to make his way down to Los Angeles, he's in the air as we speak."

The General seemed slightly put off by this, "Mr. Chappelle, in order for my people to assist _your_ people, I'll need room to make my own decisions.  Now of course all decisions stop at the President, but I need to know he won't be breathing down our necks here."

Chappelle looked back, wondering what he was asking, "I'm sure the President only wants to help."

"Mr. Chappelle, the President is a good man…but he lacks backbone.  You want your people alive, correct?"

"Of course."

"Then trust me, let us do our job, and let the President be the spokesman."

"I want these people found, General.  Do what you must."

The phone rang on the desk, "Yes?" 

Tony's voice came through the line, "Milo has the fingerprint Mr. Chappelle."

"Excellent, be right down.  General," he rose and shook the man's hand once again, "Please, just let us know how we can be of service."

Tony dropped into a seat beside Sandra, who immediately questioned him.  "Did you talk to Jack?"

"Yeah, I talked to him…we were right.  Sounds like the order to take out Weiss came straight from Chappelle, which means—"

"Are you suggesting Chappelle would risk the lives of twenty agents just to get revenge on Weiss?"

"Maybe, maybe not, either way I doubt he's thinking clearly," Tony noted as he watched Chappelle and the General come walking down the stairs beside the conference room.

"So when he finds out Holt's on that train, he _should_ call off the hit, right?"

"He should have called it off when he heard about the NOC list…listen, he's not fit to command."

"What are you saying," Sandra cut in, "We should undermine the Regional Director?  This is a hell of a time for mutiny, Tony."

"Just keep an eye on him, I'm going to go have a word."

Chappelle gave Milo a slight tap on the shoulder, "Excellent work, notify Jack immediately."

Tony walked over, "It's the guy we've been looking for."

"I know," Chappelle agreed, "Can you believe it?"

"Listen," Tony began, rather carefully, "Jack contacted me earlier, I wasn't sure where you were at the time…he told me why he's on that train."

Placing his hands on his waist, Chappelle seemed bothered by that fact, but Tony continued.  

"It's likely this guy Weiss has information about the list.  I mean I know what he had planned for today, but shouldn't we try and apprehend him instead?"

Chappelle gave Tony a rather stern look, "Jack has his orders, and you have yours.  If he can apprehend Holt, fine.  But Weiss dies today."

Tony stood motionless as the Regional Director pushed his way by.  From her desk, Sandra watched as Tony reflected on what he just heard, it obviously wasn't good.

_03:54:02_

Poulson sat at the front of the truck, kneeling down and facing his team.  "Intel reports there are two main entrances, one in the front, and one on the right side.  The house is rather large, so expect a farmhouse or something similar.  Keep in mind, these people are suspected terrorists and may have weapons inside."

Monroe put up his visor as he spoke, "How many can we expect, sir?"

"From what I know they've had reports of fifteen or more in that house, so expect twenty.  Hopefully we'll all be pleasantly surprised and find one or two."

"Excuse me sir, this is your first day right?" another agent asked, causing a small chuckle to ripple through the group.

"Only with CTU junior, signed up because I needed a vacation," he shot back, causing an even louder laugh to erupt.  "Now listen up, we go in and we go in tight.  Watch your corners and keep your eye on your partner at all times.  Check your targets, and do _not_ fire until the threat is imminent, is that understood?"

"Yes sir," the group hollered back.

"Hoorah," Poulson cheered.

"Were you a marine sir?" the same agent asked again, purposely being a nuisance.

"No," Poulson assured him, "Your mom taught me that."

The group gave the usual "Ooh" sound, but Poulson quickly shut the up, "Look alive people, check your gear, we'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

            "Oh I'm alive baby," the wisecracker yelled.  Poulson noted the name "Longo" on his badge and made sure to remember it, "Any of those Kraut bastards screw with me, and I'll teach 'em!" he said as he drew his sidearm.

"Put that away boy, you might hurt somebody."

"Oh I plan on hurting a lot of those bastards, sir!  Hell, I tell you about that Nazi son of a bitch that almost killed my dad once?  Yes sir, nothing ever changes."

"Are you going to be a problem?" Poulson asked, quite seriously.

"No problem whatsoever, unless your name is Gruber or some weird ass name like that.  Damn Nazi scum, shouldn't even waste time looking for that list, just bomb their whole damn country.  That'll teach them to mess around with our people, low life sour kraut eating bastards."

Without warning, Monroe stood and walked over to Longo.  Seeing the massive agent before him made him go silent, but it was too late.  Monroe lifted him up and stared him down, "You got something against Germans, you got something against me, understand?"

"Yeah man, yeah…" Longo pleaded.  Already the group was trying to pull Monroe away, but he refused to let go.

"Come on man, let him go!" another agent cried, "We're on the same team, man!"

Finally Monroe released him, dropping him to the seat.  "Just keep your damn mouth shut, no one wants to hear your racial crap."

Longo watched as the much larger agent returned to his seat.  He didn't dare open his mouth, and was visibly shaken.  Poulson had the same appearance, although he wasn't afraid of Monroe.  He stared off at the side of the van, thinking of how difficult this first day was going to be.  

"Get your game faces on, people."

President Palmer entered the conference room and took his seat at the head of the table.  Strickland was already speaking, going over step by step everything he could expect when he landed.  To his left sat Mike, clearly concerned about the entire situation.  Palmer was having his own personal struggles with the matter, although he tried to remain strong.  He could only lead the country if he was sure of himself.  He kept telling himself over and over, the situation would work out, without having any way of knowing what was happening in Los Angeles at that moment.

McKinley stood at the ready, M16 in hand.  His men had secured the last of the two targets, well over ten square blocks had just come under military control.  He would maintain order and ensure no one got in or out, from this moment on, his people were in control of the streets.  Several soldiers ran past while helicopters hovered in the air, all military.  The media had not yet caught wind of the story, and McKinley was glad about that.  But it was only a matter of time.

Jack Bauer kept his weapon trained on Holt as he struggled to figure out how this would work.  As long as Weiss trusted him, he could control Holt and hopefully get them both into custody.  His orders were to kill Weiss, but under the circumstances he was having his doubts.  If he could just keep Holt under his whim until the next stop, everything could work out.

Chappelle watched Tony through the blinds of the upper office.  Tony, in turn, kept his eye on Chappelle.  Sandra found herself caught in the middle, torn between two loyalties.  She had to decide whether Chappelle only wanted Weiss dead for personal reasons, and if it would be wiser to apprehend him instead.  Then again, she didn't have access to the same information Chappelle had, and defying her boss could only lead to suspension.

The phone rang, waking Ambassador Weiss.  The two agents beside him thought nothing of it.  Placing the cell phone to his ear, the Ambassador answered the call.  He used English, if only to show his trust for the men seated beside him.  "Yes?"

"Ambassador Weiss," the voice on the other end announced, "We have the first identity."

Two rows back, Jack Bauer could only guess what the phone call was regarding.

**_03:59:57_**

**_03:59:58_**

**_03:59:59_**

**_04:00:00_**

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